Coming Home
by Nightrose85
Summary: Some months after Sherlock's death John comes back to Baker Street. Being in the flat again brings back all the memories about his friend but then suddenly someone interrupts his thoughts.


_**author's note:** This is my first story here. English isn't my first language and I'm sorry if there's maybe something wrong with the grammar. Please just tell me if you find any mistakes so that I can correct them._

_I hope you like this Oneshot which I wrote after I saw the Reichenbach fall._

_The characters in this story still belong to their owners (Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC)  
_

**Coming Home**

Slowly, John Watson climbed the stairs. It felt strange to him to come back but it was necessary. Three months passed since Sherlock's funeral and John promised Mrs Hudson to clear out the flat. And now he was standing here, opening the door to the rooms where both men used to live for such a long time. Chaos was spreading in front of him as the door swung open.

Sheets of papers laid about everywhere, books and every shelves and drawers were opened and scanned. Furthermore the boxes with the microscope and the other entire scientific equipment, Mrs Hudson wanted to give away long ago, still stood around everywhere. Even in Sherlock's time chaos ruled the room, but the police and their searching made it much worse  
but they didn't find anything to proof that Sherlock wasn't the person he pretended to be.  
John broke his way through to the armchair, where he used to sit when he came home in the evening after a long working day. With a sigh he sat down on it.

He was left in disbelieve. Months ago he was sitting here with Sherlock, discussing the last case. At this thought his eyes welled up with tears but he gulped them back. He was sure Sherlock didn't want him to weep for him, it just wouldn't suit him. Yet still as he phoned with John just before his fall, the detective displayed emotions. He heard fear out of his words. This was the proof for John that Sherlock didn't jump on his free will.

He asserted that the allegation about him where true, but John still couldn't believe that.  
Sherlock wouldn't commit suicide by himself. John was confident about that fact.  
How could they all doubt him? Was he the only one left who really trusted him?

Granted, it was true that Sherlock was a complicated person. He was eccentric, outspoken but however he never really lied to John. The sentences Sherlock said to him in Dartmoor crossed his mind: "I don't have friends. I've just got one."  
They were friends, god-damned, he wanted to have him back.  
The choked back tears came out at this thoughts and John wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

He walked over to the window and looked out. But this either distracted him from the emotions he felt in the flat. He suggested how it would be when Sherlock came down the street, opening the door and entering the room, just as he never was away and just came back from an spontaneous investigation.

But it didn't happen. The street remained dead and just the wind, blowing hardly outside, let a few fallen leaves dance over the asphalt.  
John lowered his head and at the moment his sight directed to the window board. Something was still lying there. Sherlock's violin. He deposited it there before he went away and it still laid there. Dust collected on the instrument. John picked it up and swept it away almost caringly. What should he do with it? Keep it as a memory?

John wanted to pack away the violin in one of the boxes he brought with him, when something interrupted his thoughts.

"Not this one." he heard a well known voice and turned over to the door, which remained open. As he recognized the person he froze. This was impossible, wasn't it?

"Is it really you?"  
Unbelieving John gazed at the man with the dark curls and bright eyes right in front of him, the man he thought was dead up to now.  
"If your visual perfection is still as good as before and you're sure to be awake and not dreaming you can assume that I am here in person."

"But how? I've seen you fall.." John stammered.  
"Not everything is as it seems. I've always said you have to observe accurately and not just watch the things in front of you."  
John was still glued to the spot, but then life came back to his body and again tears welled up in his eyes.  
"I am so glad to see you again."  
Suddenly he felt all the weight he carried around lifting from his body and in the next moment he caught Sherlock in his arms.  
"Yes John, I.." Sherlock coughed slightly and tried to detach himself from Johns embrace. "John please, pull yourself together. We don't have time for things like that."

"What do you mean, no time? I thought..." John took a step backwards to look over Sherlock who grinned confident.  
"We have to clear my name." said Sherlock seriously and looked around the room. Than he added "It's nice to come home again."


End file.
